


i could be violet sky

by ThunderstormsandMemories



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dreams, Feelings Realization, M/M, Sharing Clothes, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 03:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16297382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderstormsandMemories/pseuds/ThunderstormsandMemories
Summary: in which Hadrian meets Samothes dressed in Samot's clothing, and then dreams about Samot while dressed in Samothes's(inspired by that bit in Spring 01 when they talk about what if Hadrian had met Samothes in a replica of Samot's cloak)





	i could be violet sky

Hadrian had no fucking clue what to wear. He wanted to impress Samothes, of course he did, but what could he possibly do that would impress a god, when he didn't even know what kind of impression he should be trying to make anyway. Showing up in full armor seemed wrong—too aggressive, in a way that would feel at odds with the sense of peace and comfort and safety that seemed to permeate the very air of the world within the sword—as did any of the formal robes worn by the church officials in Velas who, Hadrian was slowly beginning to realize—feeling a little disloyal about it even as he was sure he was right—didn’t seem to know very much about the actual Samothes. They certainly hadn’t known anything about Samot.

Which didn’t much help him figure out what Samothes would consider nice clothing, and also didn’t help him figure out how dressed up he was supposed to be. Samothes was a king, right? More of a metaphorical king than king of an actual kingdom, or so Hadrian had always thought, but maybe that had changed, now that he seemed to be directly in charge of this island city in the sword. Which was the role he’d had in Marielda too, now that Hadrian thought about it, which meant he didn’t know what to think any more and his head was starting to hurt with the metaphysical implications of it all and he still didn’t know what to wear.

He wasn’t especially a fancy clothes and formal dinners type of person, and he especially didn't know what you were supposed to wear to meet royalty, especially divine royalty. Maybe Rosana would have known. But then again, maybe she just would’ve rolled her eyes fondly and ruffled his hair and reminded him that Samothes cared more about his heart than his clothes. Which might have been true, and Hadrian hoped it was, it still wasn’t helpful. So he changed tactics and instead tried to think of what Samothes would do. Unfortunately, apparently Samothes wasn’t big on wearing much clothing at all, and showing up shirtless to dinner with a god wasn’t the kind of message he was trying to send. Or maybe it was, but that thought wasn’t helpful either, and he didn’t have time to unpack it right now so he shoved it into a back corner of his mind, where any of his other thoughts about shirtless Samothes had been banished, along with his memories of anything to do with Samot.

Samot. There was an idea. He wished he still had Samot’s cloak, thinking that maybe Samothes would’ve appreciated it as a gift. Something of his husband's, and a sign of Hadrian's faith. And more immediately relevant, Samot had always been dressed nicely whenever he’d appeared to Hadrian, in those dreams and visions that Hadrian relegated to the back corner of his mind as soon as he woke up. But now, maybe he could use them to figure out what to wear tonight, since surely as his husband Samothes would approve of Samot’s idea of proper formalwear.

As he changed, he very carefully did not examine his own motivations any more closely than that. This was for Samothes, because he wanted to make a good impression, and Samothes had already mentioned Hadrian’s connection to Samot, sounding pleased about it, or at least not displeased, so there was no harm in reminding him that he knew Samot and had somehow made a favorable impression on him too. That was all it was. It had absolutely nothing to do with the way Samot had looked at him when he’d saved his life—Hadrian had been bleeding out, he must be misremembering his exact expression, as if he didn't see that face in his dreams even on nights they weren't visions—and nothing at all to do with wanting Samothes to say his name the way he’d said Samot’s. He did not think about how the cloak had looked when it fell gracefully around Samot’s shoulders, how the colors of the sheer fabric of his shirt had brought out his eyes, how easily his hair must’ve gotten caught in the fastenings in the back without someone else—Samothes—there to help him. And he definitely didn’t think about Samot wearing these clothes with Samothes, for Samothes, Samot laying the cloak around Samothes’s shoulders and Samothes grabbing Samot by the collar and pulling him closer into a kiss.

\---

Adaire raised an eyebrow when she saw him. “Didn’t think you knew what fashion was,” she said, and Hella was eying the cloak suspiciously.

“Sure that’s a good idea?”

“No,” Hadrian said.

“Cool,” said Adaire, linking her arm with Hella’s. “Great. Good luck with… whatever this is. Don’t get us in too much trouble.” And then she, Hella, and Adelaide walked away, heads leaning close together, and he had an unpleasant feeling that they were gossiping about him.

“Are you ready to go to dinner?” said the star, which seemed like such an odd, mundane thing for a star to be saying, but that was hardly the strangest thing about all this.

“Not even a little bit,” said Hadrian. “Let’s go.”

“You clean up nicely,” said the star. “Those clothes suit you much better than what you had on before.”

“Uh,” said Hadrian eloquently, not sure what to make of the star complimenting him. Stars didn’t flirt, did they? Then again, not long ago he wouldn’t have thought gods flirted either. “Thanks, I think?”

“You’re welcome,” said the star solemnly. “Samothes will be here shortly.” And they left, presumably to retrieve the rest of Hadrian’s companions, and Hadrian was alone to second-guess every decision he had ever made that had led him to this moment.

When Samothes appeared, he stood speechless in the doorway for a moment and Hadrian, unable to read his expression and trying desperately not to let himself stare at his bare chest, took off the cloak, folded it neatly, smoothed down the fur, and presented it to Samothes.

“I’m sorry it’s not the original.”

“That’s alright,” said Samothes, who took it, shook it out, and wrapped it around his own shoulders. He closed his eyes for a moment while Hadrian waited, frozen, until Samothes sighed and said, “Thank you. I appreciate it anyway. It’s good to have a reminder.” He fell silent for another moment, staring at Hadrian while Hadrian resisted the temptation to fidget nervously. “I’m sorry,” Samothes said finally. “You understand how hard it is, to miss someone you love.”

“Yeah,” said Hadrian, though he honestly wasn’t sure if Samothes had said that to make him feel guilty about leaving Rosana and Benjamin. They were safe, which is what mattered, and they’d always been closer to each other than to him anyway. Which was his fault for being away so much, but still. He got the impression that the way Samothes missed Samot—passionately, hopelessly, eternally—was something else entirely. “He misses you too, I think,” he said. Or at least, whenever he appeared to Hadrian, there seemed to be something missing from his smile, and he held himself like his shoulders were weighed down by something that might’ve been just the fate of the world or it might’ve been loneliness too. Hadrian suddenly wished he could’ve brought Samot himself, not just a copy of his cloak, or at least a message from him for Samothes. Something to bring them back together. Maybe that was why he was a paladin, maybe this was what he could do to help them stop the Heat and the Dark.

He looked back up at Samothes, and what he was thinking must’ve shown on his face because Samothes chuckled and said, “Bringing him here wouldn’t save us. Then we’d just all be in a sword. Though it would be nice to see him again, to tell him some things I’ve learned since. Well. You know when.” And then he laid a hand on Hadrian’s shoulder and said, “You remind me of him, sometimes.”

“Funny,” Hadrian said, ignoring the way he could feel the warmth of Samothes’s touch through his shirt, and how the layer of fabric between Samothes’s hand and his skin suddenly felt very insubstantial, “he told me the exact same thing.”

“He would,” Samothes said. “I’m glad he found you, Hadrian.”

“Thank you?” Hadrian said. “But I think we both wanted to find you.”

“Hmm,” Samothes said, and Hadrian couldn’t tell if he was disagreeing or not. “Well, you’ve found me now.”

“Yeah,” said Hadrian, and despite everything, despite the Heat and the Dark, and Ordenna and Nacre and dying and nearly dying and the whole stuck-in-a-sword thing, his heart felt lighter than it had in…maybe ever. He was with Samothes, and when Samothes smiled at him, softly, laughter lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes, Hadrian couldn’t help but smile back, and he hoped Samothes could tell just how joyful he was in the moment. He probably looked ridiculous. He hoped Samothes didn’t think so.

Samothes opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, closed it again, and then eventually removed his hand from Hadrian’s shoulder—Hadrian shivered at the abrupt absence of his touch—and said, “We should take our seats for dinner. Your friends should be arriving soon. We’ll talk more later.”

“I’d like that,” said Hadrian.

And then Samothes took Hadrian’s hand and lifted it to his lips and brushed a gentle kiss across his knuckles where there should’ve been a ring and Hadrian, all at once, began to realize some things about himself and the nature of his feelings for Samothes.

\---

Hadrian fell asleep thinking of Samothes and dreamt of Samot. He was sitting on the bed in the room where he’d fallen asleep, with Samot at the desk, pouring himself a glass of wine from a bottle that definitely hadn’t been there in the real version of the room, which was all pretty standard, as these dreams went. The part that surprised him was that he was wearing what Samothes had worn to dinner—the robe and pants were impossibly soft against his skin, though Samothes was Ingenuity Alive, so it wasn’t surprising that he could invent himself some especially comfortable fabrics, or maybe it was just a result of this being a dream, and the robe was open down to where it was loosely tied at his waist, leaving his chest bare and making him feel like he might as well not be wearing anything—and Samot was wearing the same outfit Hadrian had picked for dinner. If he weren’t so used to distinguishing between regular dreams and visions from Samot, he would’ve thought this was just his subconscious trying to make his life more difficult.

“So you’ve found him at last,” said Samot, pouring a second glass of wine and holding it out to Hadrian.

“How can you still talk to me?” Hadrian said, accepting the cup from him, their fingers brushing together briefly. “We’re in a sword. And also on an island in the middle of an endless ocean. I think.”

“Is that what happened?” Samot said. “Interesting. I can just tell that you’re somewhere else, somewhere I can’t see as clearly.”

“Echoes of shadows,” Hadrian said. “That’s how he said it.” Samot smiled sadly.

“Isn’t that what we all are, now?” He sighed and sipped his wine, and Hadrian stared down at his own glass. “Try the wine,” Samot said. “He’s not much of a wine person but this was always his favorite. Though maybe that’s changed now too, I don’t know.”

Hadrian tried the wine. It was a little too sweet for his taste, but he somehow wasn't surprised that Samothes liked it, so he took another sip and decided it was growing on him. “I lost your cloak,” he said, finally. “I mean, I gave it to Samothes, but the other Samothes. The one-”

“I know,” Samot interrupted. The wine had made his lips very red. “I’m not surprised.”

“I kind of gave it to this Samothes too,” said Hadrian. “It was a copy, but he seemed to like it anyway.”

“I thought something like that must’ve happened,” Samot said, gesturing at what Hadrian was wearing, his eyes lingering on the open robe in a way that felt distinctly appraising. Hadrian sat up straighter but didn't make any move to pull the robe closed, even though it was starting to slip down on one of his shoulders. “You do look good in his clothes.” Hadrian tried to drink too much of his wine at once and started coughing, while conveniently bought him some time to fail to think of an appropriate response. When he didn’t answer, Samot looked at him critically and swirled the wine in his glass and said, “I’m sure you’d look good in my clothes, too, but that might be more because I have good taste. This isn’t quite your style.”

“Hey,” Hadrian said, finding his voice again in time to feel vaguely offended.

“What’s wrong?” Samot said. “It was a compliment. When I said I had good taste I was talking about you.”

Hadrian's glass slipped from his fingers, and it shattered on the stone floor, the wine splashing up and coloring the hems of his—Samothes’s—pants. Samot said, a little reproachfully, “That was a good vintage.”

“This is a dream,” Hadrian pointed out, though he was eying the broken glass warily. Just because it was a dream didn’t mean nothing could hurt him.

“Still,” Samot said. “Good wine is good wine, and it’s a shame to waste it.” He handed his own glass to Hadrian, said, “Don’t break this one,” and began to pour himself another drink into a glass that had just appeared on the desk. Hadrian drank, putting his lips where Samot’s had been. He didn’t think he’d meant to at first, but once he noticed he didn't stop. When he looked back at his feet, the broken glass and spilled wine were gone, and Samot said, “I used to be able to rewrite the world like this, not just in dreams. We all did.”

“I’m sorry,” Hadrian said, because he didn’t know what else to say. And then, because Samot’s nostalgia reminded him of the Samothes looked when he talked about his life before the sword, he said, quietly, not sure it was his place to comment on their marriage but driven by what he now realized was his devotion, to both of them, “He misses you. He says there are things he wants to tell you.”

“I’m sure there are,” said Samot, and for a second his smile was bitter, brittle as the shattered glass he had just rewritten. And then he shook his head and said, “We’ve said everything to each other that’s possible for us to say.”

“No, he really means it,” said Hadrian, and then, in a sudden flash of inspiration, “I could give him a message from you. And then I can tell you what he says, and you can decide for yourself.”

“You could do that,” Samot said, and he smiled again, baring his teeth. Hadrian shivered. Samot set his glass down and stood in one fluid motion, his long hair shimmering behind him in the light from… Hadrian wasn’t sure, actually, what the light source in the dream was. The sun wasn’t out, and no candles were lit, but he could still see everything clearly, and some kind of light was catching in Samot’s hair as he moved. Then again, Samot was a god, so maybe his hair just did that naturally. “What would your message say?”

“Whatever you want it to,” Hadrian said, his mouth dry. “It’s your message.” Samot stepped closer, and when Hadrian stood up there was so little space between them it was more of a surprise that they weren’t touching. Hadrian’s breath kept catching in his throat, and he couldn’t seem to stop staring at Samot’s slightly parted lips.

“But you’re the one who’s delivering it,” said Samot. “It’s up to you to get it right.” And then he was kissing him, wildly, fiercely, his fingers cool as he slid his hands across Hadrian's chest and under the robe and dragged his nails down Hadrian’s back, and Hadrian grabbed him by the collar with both hands and pulled him closer.

**Author's Note:**

> title from Grace Kelly by Mika specifically because I wrote this while listening to my Getting Dressed Up To Go Out Gay Clubbing playlist which contains this song which got stuck in my head, which maybe tells you some things about the general Mood of this fic
> 
> find me on twitter at @s_artemisios where I'm gonna be consistently just about this thirsty for Samot for the entirety of Spring and probably beyond


End file.
